


For Love of Wind and Water

by Stormvoël (BushRat8)



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: F/M, NOT a romantic pairing, Not a romance, Sailing to Singapore, love of the sea, recruiting for a voyage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29216952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BushRat8/pseuds/Stormvo%C3%ABl
Summary: Captain Barbossa is recruiting a crew for the long voyage to Singapore pre-At World's End.  An unexpected applicant turns up;  one who makes him think about his own place in the world.
Relationships: Hector Barbossa/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 11





	For Love of Wind and Water

**Author's Note:**

> I generally avoid females-at-sea (pirate or otherwise) like the plague, but this one is such a die-hard sailor before anything else that I couldn't help it. Think Anne Bonney or Mary Read, or any other woman who went to sea or to war.
> 
> "Dove" was an extremely common endearment at the time, although Barbossa does not use it here with amorous intent; instead, he simply finds it a peculiarly apropos nickname. Just to note, for those who are wondering: this is a standalone tale and presupposes that the Innkeeper Arc does not exist. 
> 
> A fid is a thick conical wooden spike used in splicing rope. If you recall, Sao Feng kept one in his sash and threatened to jam it into Will Turner's face. The man found in the island spring was killed with a fid: in through the mouth, out through the back of the head. Yuck. 
> 
> "Two others" (women) on the ship: Elizabeth Swann and Tia Dalma. 
> 
> This story is from my files, written way back when AWE first came out. I thought it had been lost, until I discovered that I'd emailed it to myself so that it wouldn't be :-D

-oOo-

Barbossa took in the sight of a woman in an ill-fitting sack of a frock, her once-fair skin gone rough and brown with the sun and wind, long black hair tangled, and dark eyes steady as she gazed back at him, in spite of all the sniggering around her. _I am not disposed t’ laugh,_ he thought, surprised at himself, _for I see a fine seriousness of purpose standin’ afore me. Can’t sign her on straightaway as I would wi’ the others, but…_ “Well, lass,” he said after an appraising silence. “As ye’ve braved the mockery of all these men, ye may state yer case as t’ why I should let ye set yer dainty foot ‘pon me ship.”

“Birdy’s my name, sir,” she replied levelly, brushing off the captain’s own mockery as the price of admittance to the recruiting table, “and I’ve spent nearly twelve years serving on one ship or another.” More snickers from the men, although this time, they were nervous. How had a woman hidden herself for so long? Had they themselves been aboard one of those unfortunate vessels? “I’m a first-class rigger and the best damned topman on any ocean, I’ve a well-practiced arm with a sword, and I can read water and weather as clear as I can read writing in a book.”

The captain flashed her a slight grin which, while not exactly friendly, was appreciative of the accomplishments she claimed. _So, she’s lettered,_ he said to himself, ticking it off as being in her favor. _Could be useful._ “Hm. Birdy, is it?”

“Aye, sir.”

“What be yer true name?”

Birdy hadn’t expected to be asked this, and she flushed a deep red under the coppery burn on her face. But instead of revealing the name her parents had given her, she countered with, “You don’t need to know.”

Barbossa shrugged, amused, if slightly irked, by her defiance. “Mayhap I don’t, but ye’ll still tell me; that is, if ye want me not t’ turn you out on yer arse directly.”

_Shite and damnation!_ was all Birdy could think. _I thought I left that behind me a long time ago._ But, “If you insist,” she sighed, feeling her jaw start to ache from the grinding of her teeth. “It’s Andromeda. Andromeda Welles.”

To her astonishment, Barbossa didn’t laugh, didn’t even smile; he only looked thoughtful. “’Tis a fine, handsome name, Miss Welles, and I’m puzzled as t’ why ye’d be ashamed of it.”

She snorted. “Not ashamed. But it’s a name that’ll get me hanged, for it's the one I bore when I was condemned in England.”

_That so?_ “Death warrant, then? Care t’ tell me what for?”

“Cutpurse,” Birdy said shortly.

“Got thievin’ in yer bones, little Dove, do ye?”

_Dove?_ she thought, startled. _Look here, I didn’t ask to sign on as your bloody concubine!_

Ignoring Birdy’s ill-concealed irritation with the way he’d addressed her, Barbossa drummed His fingers on the parchment in front of him, weighing the yeas and nays of allowing a woman to sign his Articles. _Won’t sit well wi’ the ones what hold wi’ tradition,_ he mused, _an’ were it someone of lesser worth, I’d not countenance th’ possibility for th’ tenth part of an instant. But ‘twould be a rotten shame t’ deny a place t’ one what has her skills, for good topmen be bleedin’ hard t’ come by, and a rigger what knows his… her… business ain’t no small thing, neither. Got a steady nerve an’ steel in her back, that’s for certain: ‘Ye don’t need t’ know,’ indeed! An' alive an’ healthy after twelve years of sailin’… Fair bit of luck, has this one, t’ survive that long. We’ll need luck where we’re goin’, but still, there be th' ship an’ th' sea t’ consider._

“Rigger, ye say,” Barbossa finally went on.

Birdy nodded.

“Ye’ll not mind if I don’t take yer word on it.”

That, she _had_ expected. “Test me however you like.”

The captain called for several lengths of wet rope to be brought; and, barking out the names of a number of obscure knots, he watched as Birdy tied them, quickly, efficiently, and without hesitation. “Give the lass a fid; let’s see if she knows how t’ use it,” he ordered.

Now it was Birdy who was rolling her eyes in the face of such an elementary test; and when Barbossa and his bo’sun started flinging random questions at her about everything that could possibly be attached to mast or yard, she wondered what kind of incompetent fool she’d be for not being able to tell them about every part of the cordage.

Presently, though, Barbossa was convinced of her knowledge, and moved on to other matters, asking, “What kind of helmsman are ye?”

She didn’t like admitting to being mediocre, but, “Fairweather, not much more.”

Still, _Good enough t’ do in a pinch,_ Barbossa decided. _She’d be of far more use up top, anyway._ “Ye read an’ write; that, ye’ve told me. D’ ye know enough maths t’ assay the art of navigation?”

“Some, aye. Not as much as I’d like.”

_Oh? Still useful, for certain; if she knows enough, mayhap she might learn more_. “Ye tell me ye’ve a fine way with a sword,” the captain continued; quickly, in order that he not betray too much interest. “Where be that sword now?”

She’d known the question would be asked, but even so, it made Birdy cringe. “Lost,” she was forced to confess. “It was discovered on my last vessel that I was a woman, and I barely made it off alive; thank Christ we were just coming into port, or I’d have drowned. But though I survived, my sword ended up at the bottom of the harbor. But I still have…”

There was a roar from the crowd as the captain abruptly bolted straight over the table and made as if to attack her.

“… this.”

Barbossa found himself with the point of Birdy’s knife lodged dangerously close to tender portions of his anatomy. _Damn me, but she’s fast!_ “Aye, lass, ye certainly do,” he said, hoping he sounded nonchalant and not nearly as squeaky to everyone else as he did to himself.

“Does this mean you’ll give me a place?” she whispered, still pressed so close that the captain could feel the flutter of her breath on his neck. “Or must you still test me?” Then she choked up, and her voice was silenced, and Barbossa knew to a certainty that she wanted to cry out, _For pity’s sake, help me: I’m lost on land and must get back to the sea!_ He knew it, though she had said nothing. He could hear the words in his mind. He could _feel_ them in his gut, and to his shock and shame, it unnerved him.

_I’m lost on land and must get back back t’ the sea!_ The captain didn’t know whether he or Birdy had thought it first, or if somehow they were thinking it together. _Back t’ the sea._ It was what he’d struggled with always, and struggled with still: to give himself over, completely and at last, to the one place that welcomed and wanted him. _The sea…_ It was all that mattered.

_Back t’ the sea… or I’ll be lost forever. Oh God, Andromeda Welles, be that what ye’ve come here t’ tell me?_

Stepping carefully away (and giving a furtive pat to his parts to assure himself they were in no further danger), the Barbossa indicated the parchment with a hand he was trying his damnedest to keep from trembling. “Sign yer name then, Missy,” he said, resuming his seat far more shakily than he would have liked, “an’ whether it be wi’ the real one or wi’ Birdy will be yer own choice.”

She thought about this for a moment; then, taking up the quill, she signed in a firm hand, ‘Andromeda Welles.’

Barbossa tipped his head in acknowledgement, and on his face was an expression of strange satisfaction that was fast overcoming his panic. “Acquire yerself some more suitable clothes, Miss Welles,” he said by way of his first order, “for while ye do fill out that shift in a fine manner, ‘tis of scant use for scuttlin’ around in the riggin’.”

Birdy began to laugh along with everyone else, the better to hide her blush at his words and relief at his acceptance. “Aye, sir. On my way here, I passed a washing line; it has just what I need.”

  
-oOo-  
-oOo-

“So, Birdy Welles,” said the captain as he came out of his cabin to find Birdy leaning on the rail, staring out at the water. “How is it ye’re farin’ wi’ bein’ openly a woman aboard a ship?”

“I’m faring fine, Captain,” she answered. “Oh, I’ve gotten some strange looks, and there’s a bit of muttering, but I expected as much. Besides, you have two others, so I'm not as unusual as all that.”

“Bah, pay it no mind; ‘twill stop once the crew settles down.”

“Will you tell me something?”

The captain was unused to members of his crew addressing more than necessary words to him, and the easy, almost familiar way in which Birdy spoke was disconcerting. But even so, “If there be somethin’ ye wish t’ ask, Missy, then ye have m’ permission.”

Birdy stood with her back to him as she continued to gaze at the sea. “Why, sir?” she asked. “You must have known I could have no real hope of obtaining a position on your crew, and yet here I am. What turned your decision in my favor?”

She trailed off as she felt the captain slide up behind her, lowering his voice to reach no further than her ear. “Why?” he echoed in a gruff and rumbling purr. “Listen, now… I been sailin’ ‘pon the world’s waters since I were barely past a child, and in that time, I learned many things and even more truths, one of which be that the sea has daughters as well as sons; not many, but I can recognize ‘em. What I saw in ye were an utmost respect an’ love for the sea, and I’ve no doubt the ship'll treat ye as her daughter just as surely. Any as fear or don’t like m’ decision t’ bring ye aboard can get stuffed an’ go ashore again. An’ b’sides…” He allowed himself the intimacy of placing his hands upon her shoulders before murmuring the words that had lived in the back of his head since the day he first felt them; a thought which was now an old friend that would always point him back to his place in the world: to his domain: to his home. “I be lost on land an’ must get back t’ the sea. That answer yer question?”

Though Birdy said nothing in reply, she turned and looked sharply at her captain before favoring him with a knowing smile. Then all at once, she sprang to the rail, from whence she disappeared upwards into the mariner’s forest of wood and rope and canvas. And as he watched her go, Barbossa also smiled; a smile which, for once in his harsh and difficult life, was serene and devoid of all calculation or malice. _T’ yer perch then, young Dove,_ he silently bade her. _T’ the high places ye inhabit, that t’gether we might make this glorious ship fly; me, wi’ m’ hand on her wheel, and you, wi’ yer love of wind an’ water._

Then, just as fast as it had come upon him, that moment of serenity was over; and, taking a fine, sustaining breath of the sharp salt air, Captain Barbossa straightened his hat and began his morning walk towards the bow, bellowing out orders as he went and scowling at all who dared to get in his way.

  
-oOo- FIN -oOo-


End file.
